"You have to believe me," she cries. "I'm not lying and neither is your mother. She's a good person. A really good person. At least just meet her. Just once."
Scowling, I turn towards my locker. I have to, because looking at her stops me from thinking. For one minute, I need to think with my brain and not my dick. What is immediately clear when I'm not looking at her luscious curves and lying eyes is that she must be part of a scam. When you exist in the public eye the way that I do, you learn fast to tell the difference between heartfelt pleas from fans, and cunning con-women trying to count your money for you.
Of course, they'd send along a smokin' chick to try and seduce me into believing their shit story. I get that and quite frankly, they chose one hell of a candidate. Not only is she a fantastic actress, playing the part of a super innocent damsel in distress to perfection, she's already got me all twisted up in knots with lust.
I'm quite a good judge of character and I must say there is something sincere about her. Some parts of the scam could be true. Maybe her stepmother really is sick, and she needs the money for her. The way she looks, I'd have been happy to foot her medical bills if they were real, but using this stupid and callous method, one that involves my parents is a bit much. That's just low. She just lost any sympathy I might have had for her predicament.
I turn back around, my face completely expressionless. She is staring at me with a pleading look. I stare at her in astonishment. What is it about this woman? Even knowing that she is a con artist, all I want to do is slam her up against the lockers and fuck her until she screams my name.
"So, you want me to go meet my biological mother … who is dying?"
She flinches at my deadpan delivery, and for some crazy reason, I feel a small stab of sympathy for her.
"She is your biological mother," she insists fiercely.
"So you say," I retort.
"She only wants to look you in the face. Just once. Please," she pleads.
It's getting harder and harder to resist her. She seems so sincere. "I get that, but what's in it for me?"
We stare at each other. Butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, but my mind is churning with dirty, filthy thoughts.
"Please. I want to help my stepmother. I'd do anything for her," she blurts out.
My cock actually jerks at that. "Anything?" I consider the word, as it it hangs in the air between us like a promise. I cock an eyebrow at her, and ideas began to take shape in my brain.
Right, I've established that she's a con-woman. I can't trust her, not as far as I can throw her, anyway. She's lied through her teeth to get in here, and this last statement, I see it for what exactly it is. A barely disguised offer of her body in exchange for what she wants. Some part of me is furious with her because I really like her and she's turned out to be nothing, but a cheap slut. Putting herself out so easily. How many men has she offered herself to like this? I don't know why, but I fucking hate the idea of any other man touching her.
Fuck it. Two can play at this fucking game. If she's passing it around like candy why shouldn't I have a piece too? It's stupid to let her walk out of this room without at least trying my luck. Would it be so out there for me to untie her hair and watch all those glorious golden waves cascade down her body? I bet her skin is like the finest silk, and I'll lay money she'll moan when I suck those big, juicy boobs. My cock starts pulsating for her.
If she says no, fine. She can leave, and I'll put this sorry affair behind me. Shit, I'll have forgotten her by tonight when I'm buried deep inside some other broad.
"I'll take her address," I drawl.
Her face lights up, and she opens her mouth as if to thank me, but I hold a hand up to silence her so I can deliver my condition of acceptance.
"If you lock the door, strip, and let me look at you."
Chapter Two
Reese
"What?" My jaw hangs open as soon as the words are out of his mouth. He can't be serious.
Can he?
He's scanning my face for a reaction, one corner of his full sensual lips twisted cynically. Part of me wants to see him smile. For years, I've followed his career, as starting quarterback, team captain, and leader of the team's defense, and seen hundreds of photos of him in gossip magazines, always with his arm wrapped around the waists of anonymous Barbie-like women, a big grin plastered across his face.
None of the photographs have done him justice.
In real life, he's a badass magnetic hunk of a man. Power and animal attraction radiate out of him in waves strong enough to knock out an ox. His eyes are the color of wet grass and they glow in his deeply tanned face. His nose is straight and his jaw is strong and chiseled, as if out of solid granite. Did I hear wrong? Did he actually ask me … to strip for him? Why? When he has all those beauties at his beck and call.
"You heard me." His voice is soft but steely.
"No," I gasp, shaking my head.
His gorgeous eyes turn icy. "What happened to "anything?" he taunts.
"I didn't mean that." My voice is shocked and unconsciously pleading.
"So, you lied. Again."
"No, I wasn't lying. I-"
He shrugs carelessly. "Go home, Reese. You're wasting my time." Then he turns away from me as if he has already forgotten all about me and opens his locker door. If I don't strip he's just going to get dressed and walk out of here, and I will never get another chance to convince him that I'm telling the truth, and Morgan will never get her dying wish to see her beloved son all grown up and successful.
I know my stepmom will be repulsed if she knew her son asked me to do such a lewd and degrading thing. If I go to her and tell her about his request, she wouldn't hold it against me for not going through with it. In fact, she'd be very, very sad that her beautiful boy had become this callous, sexual predator.
No matter what happens I will never tell her the truth. I'll never spoil the illusion. Let her breathe her last thinking he is something special. I don't have to do this. I can just leave. No one will blame me. I'll make something up, but as I watch the way the bulging muscles in his torso move when he reaches inside his locker, something unusual happens.
The muscles between my legs clench hard, and a little voice in my head says, "So what if you strip for him? What harm can it do? No one will ever know. And you want it, don't you?"
I guess now might be a good time to admit that I've been secretly dreaming of Drake Kelly for a long time now. It's part of the reason I came here today, all dressed up in my most professional outfit and with a faked ID from a local paper bought for the princely sum of $120.00 from the net. I wanted to meet him in person and see if he lived up to the hype.
Damn him, he does.
He's one of those rare people who exists at the intersection of talent, good looks, and charisma. My eyes follow the dangerous-looking tattoos on his arm up to his powerful shoulders and onto his tightly sculpted body where they taper down to his lean hips before they are hidden by his towel. He's a sex god, there's no arguing with that. I know most of my friends would kill to be standing this close to him especially considering that he's almost naked.
But it's me he wants to see naked!
Well, I want him to see me naked too. I want to see what his eyes look like when they are glazed with desire. Not for one of those perfectly formed blonde women he escorts around town, but for me. Little ole me.
My eyes swivel towards the door. Am I really going to do this?
He glances at me, his face bored. "Are you still here?"
I let out a shaky breath and force myself to look up into his eyes. He really isn't joking. Well, neither am I. I feel a heat growing steadily between my legs. I press my lips together. Sure, it's a bad idea, the worst, but my cheeks are already burning, and my chest is rising and falling fast. I want this, want him. And if it gets him to take the address as well … no harm done. Right?
In one swift motion, I turn to the door and push the latch across, locking it tight. Just us now. I whirl back to him and find his eyebrows have disappeared into his hairline. He never expected this. Well, he asked for it, and he's going to get it.
I stand in front of him, just a bench between us, and reach up to undo my ponytail. I pull out the band and let my long hair fall around my shoulders. I feel better like that, less done-up, a bit more covered up. Then, with my heart hammering against my chest, I slip out of my blazer, letting it fall to the floor. The only sound is the air conditioning humming in the thick, heavy almost-silence hanging between us. He turns slowly towards me, his eyes dark with interest.
Oh shit, this is really happening.
Before I can stop myself, I reach up and begin to unbutton my shirt. I take my time, pushing through one button carefully before moving on to the next until it hangs open over my torso. I discard it and reach for my bra.